


Office Hours

by labellementeuse



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellementeuse/pseuds/labellementeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four wizards (and one major talent) Mr Millman has known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepfighter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepfighter/gifts).



> Dear sleepfighter, I had a lot of fun exploring this character; I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Thanks to Night’s Mistress, Hazel, aworldinside and M for their kind and helpful advice. Errors remain my own. Notably, for the sake of this fic, Carmela attends the same school as Nita, Kit and Dairine, even though canon implies otherwise. Sorry. 
> 
> This story takes place before _A Wizard's Holiday_ and during and after _Wizards at War_ , and includes major spoilers to that point in canon.

_April_  
Dairine Callahan  
8:30-9am, Tuesdays and Fridays 

“How are you this morning, Dairine?”

She sat slumped in the chair in front of him and fiddled with something that looked a bit like a webcam. When her red bangs fell in front of her eyes she twitched a little, but let them stay, shadowing her eyes. 

The clock ticked away a minute. Mr Millman sat. Dairine didn’t look up.

Eventually, she flicked her eyes up to meet his. “I’m okay,” she said. 

“That’s an improvement from last week,” Millman said, easily. 

Dairine nodded. “Anything would be.” She bent her head back to the webcam. As Millman squinted, he could see - or rather, not see - the telltale gaps in the apparent surface that he recognised as wizardry at work. 

“A new project?” he asked, nodding towards it. 

“Yeah,” said Dairine. “It’s for Spot - my laptop. It’s… you know.” She twiddled her fingers. 

“Are you still having trouble focusing?”

“Sometimes. Sort of.” She frowned at her hands. “It’s like … I get bored with what I’m working on, but I can’t think of anything else I want to do. So I just sit around.”

“It’s not necessarily bad to take a break,” he said.

“I’ve been taking a break. It’s been months since I’ve done anything … useful. Anything in my actual job - do you know the Wizard’s Oath?”

Millman put his eyebrows up. “I do, actually,” he said. “Bits of it, anyway. It seems to change depending on who’s speaking it.” _In Life’s name, and for Life’s sake_ \- it seemed to start like that for most people he knew. He remembered, suddenly, Ana lying on her side in their bed, smiling at him, reciting the Oath, and with an effort, blinked the memory away. 

“Well,” said Dairine, “the point of it is _growing_. And I’m not. And I know it. I thought … after Mom died, for a while I just didn’t care, and then I didn’t want anything to change because she wouldn’t be there to see it. But I know that’s stupid. Things change. Entropy is working. But I’m not.”

“You’re stuck in a rut.”

“Yeah.” She sat up straight, looking directly at him for the first time: intense, pale eyes. Not much like her sister’s; Nita’s gaze was not quite so … _skewering_ , unless she was angry. Skewering seemed to be Dairine’s default state; it had been poking through her listlessness more and more since he’d begun seeing her. He rather thought it was a good sign. 

“So,” he said. “Ruts are hard to get out of. You can try making small, regular changes. Pick a couple of projects, new ones, switch between them. Try something new.”

The bell rang. Dairine sighed. “What I could really use,” she said, hauling her bag up off the ground and into her lap, “is new scenery.”

“Spring break’s coming up,” Millman pointed out, as he stood with her. “You could use that time, the energy you’re using on, say, showing up to school, not making Ms Jones in chemistry cry, that kind of thing … use that on the new things. See what happens.”

Dairine pursed her lips. “I can think of a few new things,” she said.

“I look forward to hearing about them,” Millman said. He opened the door for her. “Have a good day, Dairine. Try not to make anyone cry.”

“No promises,” she said, heading out. 

*  
 _May  
Carmela Rodriguez  
Referral_

Office hours were empty, for a change. For the first time all week no students sat in the chair in front of him crying, or studiously avoiding his gaze, or swearing. Millman sat, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, pulled a newspaper out, spread it across his desk, glanced at the headlines - diplomatic breakdowns, uprisings bloodily quelled, violent crime, looming nuclear tension - closed it again, shoved it into his briefcase. Closed his case, stood up, peered out his window at the grey sky, grey tarmac, grey chain-link fence separating the school grounds from the street. A few students meandered around or leant against the wall, but the school was quiet. 

_Too quiet_ , he thought, and tried to laugh at himself. He returned to his desk, opened his drawer, and pulled out the photo frame that sat there. Ana smiled up at him, her dark, springy curls windtossed, brows raised questioningly. He sat heavily, clutching the picture.

The phone rang.

Millman jumped, shook his head, and picked it up.

“Millman speaking.”

“Hi, Bob, it’s Cathy. Are you busy up there today?”

“Oh, hi. No - quiet, actually. Got someone for me?” Dropping the picture back into the drawer and shutting it firmly, he fished around on his desk for pen and paper.

“Yeah. I’ll send her up. Got involved in a shouting match that nearly turned into a shoving match - we’ve sent the guy home; third strike. He’s getting suspended. We don’t want to send her back to class. She’s usually not involved in this kind of thing - good student, smart mouth but no trouble. Carmela Rodriguez. Do you know her?”

“Ah,” he said, scribbling. “No, but I know her brother.” _And what he’s involved in at the moment. In the broadest possible terms, anyway._

“I’ll send her up. She probably just needs somewhere to sit before the next period.”

Millman hung up and straightened his desk. A few minutes later a teenaged girl, sporting a remarkable ensemble of crop top and pink-and-green cargo pants and a single long, dark braid, stuck her head around his doorframe.

“Mr Millman?”

“Carmela,” he said. “Please come in.”

“Hola,” she said, cheerfully enough, as she entered and sat herself down in front of his desk; but he noticed she was frowning.

“What can I do for you today?”

“Hey, they sent me to see you,” she said. “It wasn’t my idea.” 

“That’s right,” he agreed. “Ms. Ruiz said you were involved in a fight?”

“A philosophical disagreement,” she said. “Johnny thinks it’s OK to call the freshmen girls sluts. I don’t agree.”

“You’re right, of course. But a philosophical disagreement with shoving?”

She shrugged. “He started it.”

“Do you usually find your disagreements escalate to violence?”

“Hey!” she said. “I said _he_ started it.”

“I know,” Millman said. “But you don’t seem very upset about it.”

“I’m not going to be scared by a sexist dumbass junior, am I?” said Carmela, and made a face. “There are scarier things in the universe.”

“There certainly are,” he agreed. “Anything you’re worried about in particular?”

“Why would I be?” She ducked her head, then looked up at him. Her fingers tapped away on the arm of the seat.

“Your brother hasn’t been in school,” Millman said. “I believe you know what he’s doing.”

She blinked. “I do, actually.”

“Well then.” He spread his hands. “You’re worried about Kit. That’s understandable. It’s hard, to be stuck on E-– in school … while a loved one is out … doing what he’s doing.” _And even harder when they never come home_. “But it’s still better to deal with the problems in front of us without shoving. If it can possibly be avoided,” he added, with a grin.

She smiled back, briefly; her face looked used to smiling, but it dropped off quickly. “He’s my baby brother,” she said. “I’m still not used to the idea that it’s his job to look out for me. I mean, he’s got Nita and Pancho with him; they’ve done this kind of thing before. They saved a civilization on spring break!”

_They what? Never mind_. He restrained his curiosity, with some effort. “You’ll always be his big sister, you know. Sounds silly, but it can be helpful to remember. That really can’t be changed.”

“I know,” she said. “But I want to do something.”

“Maybe you can,” he said. “Nita warned me before she left that things might get difficult around here. Emotions running high, people easily pushed … that sort of thing. It’s happening in school.”

She nodded. “I know. It’s why I kind of lost it at Johnny. It seems so pointless to be here,” she burst out. “Nobody cares. People just sort of stare at the board. Most of the teachers are worse than the kids - we watched a movie in three different classes today. And people are angry.”

“Angry and disconnected,” said Millman. “It’s a bad combination.”

She eyed him. “You seem okay.”

“Knowing what’s happening with my emotions is sort of my job,” he said. “I’m trying to help.”

“You do,” she said. 

“Thank you. You know, I’ve found it helps. Trying to help, I mean. It helps me.” 

She nodded, looking a bit abstracted. “I’ve been trying, too. But I don’t seem to be able to do anything around here any more.”

“Hmm.” He straightened his papers. “Well - I tend to think that in times like this, there’s not much point worrying about school. If there’s something you can do to help elsewhere … go and do it. Otherwise, I can only advise you to keep doing what you’re doing - but carefully. Things are going to get rough.”

She looked even more distant. “Actually … I think there might be.”

“What?”

“Something I can do to help. I just got this new toy in the mail ...” 

*

_May  
Interlude_

Collar turned up against the unseasonal rain and sweating beneath his raincoat, Millman dashed across the parking lot and into the supermarket. He glanced at the rows of shopping carts, folded in on themselves, and then into the aisles, heaving with people pushing carts. Tired parents hauling grumpy toddlers, twenty-year-olds in packs trailing after each other looking disaffected … he swerved towards the baskets.

Tucking one under his arm, he fumbled in his pocket until he pulled out a folded, photocopied sheet. _Ana’s Penne a la Vodka_ , it said in a bold cursive. _Good for bad weeknights. Pair with vodka on the rocks._ He grinned, then dodged to avoid a cart travelling at a frankly surprising speed, considering it was manned by a couple of elementary school kids. _Butter, garlic, shallots …_

Five minutes later, standing in front of the open fridge looking in vain for double cream, he backed up a step and bumped into someone. 

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically, turning to check on his victim -– and did a double-take. “Carl!”

Tall, dark Carl Romeo, in the middle of his own apology, broke out into a grin and offered his hand. Millman shook it firmly. 

“How are you, Bob?” Carl asked. “It’s been a long time. I don’t think I’ve seen you for - oh, it must be a couple of years. Since …” he trailed off.

“The funeral,” completed Millman.

“Uh, yeah. Probably around then.” Carl looked uncomfortable.

“I’m doing well,” Millman said, to spare them both from the awkward expression of sympathy. He’d had his fill of those. “How about you? And Tom and the dogs?”

“We’re fine, we’re fine.” He shrugged. “You know, we just keep on keeping on.”

“You must be busy at the moment.” Millman paused. “I don’t want to break any confidences, but someone called me the other day to warn me that something serious might happen. Can you give me any advice on how to handle it?”

“Huh?” Carl raised his eyebrows. “Oh, the game we used to play with the Callahans and some of the other kids. No, no, we aren’t doing much of that. Time to move on, you know - the kids must be keeping it up themselves.”

“Game?” Millman felt, suddenly and unexpectedly, sick. 

“You know, wizardry, Errantry, that roleplaying game we all played - Ana too, remember?”

“I do remember, yes.” His voice sounded strange on its way out.

“Are you okay, man?” Carl asked, looking concerned. “You’ve gone kind of pale. Can I call someone?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Just hungry,” he managed. “I better get home and get on with dinner - say hi to Tom.”

“Of course,” Carl said. “Take care.”

Millman twitched a smile and backed away, making a beeline for the tills. His gut roiled. _A game, like it was a game that Ana died for, and he doesn’t remember?_ He shook his head, forcing himself to be calm. _This must be related to … whatever it is that Nita’s doing. I wish I’d made her give me more details now; how would the universe expanding faster affect our memories?_ He sighed and laughed and someone in the queue in front of him gave him a weird look, before shifting to put herself between him and his toddler. _Come on. How would I know what could happen if the universe expanded faster? Just … go well, Nita. And quickly, I hope._

*  
 _June_  
Jesse McMillan  
12-12:30pm, Wednesdays

_Nita Callahan  
Drop-in_

The bell rang and the boy sitting in front of Millman gave him a fast grin. 

“Saved by the bell, Mr M.”

“Okay, Jesse, we don’t have to get into it right now. But think about it for next week, would you?”

“I got it.” The boy paused on his way out of the room, backpack already draped over one shoulder in the approved teenage manner. “I feel a lot better this week, for some reason.”

“You know, Jesse, so do I,” said Millman. “See you next time.”

As Jesse left the room, Millman rose and went to his window. A gang of kids ran by chasing a basketball; a girl leant against the fence, shouting happily across the tarmac. The sky was still grey, but today, that was fine. 

He turned, crisply, went to his desk and dug out the photo again. 

Someone knocked on his door.

He turned, and saw Nita Callahan leaning up against his doorframe. “Hi, Mr. Millman. Are you busy?”

“Not at all. Come in, Nita.”

She came in, shut the door, and plopped down into the seat in front of him.

“What can I do for you?”

She smiled. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry. But I wanted to come by and thank you for smoothing things over with the school after our, um …” she paused. “Unexpected excursion.”

“You’re welcome. I gather that things, ah, went well.” He added, “It’s certainly a lot more pleasant around here than it was this time last week. I suspect I should be thanking you.”

Nita looked ever-so-slightly gratified. “It was a productive trip. Carl said he’d been in touch with you -–” 

“ -– He called -–” and he’d apologized profusely, sounding as shaken as Millman had ever heard him. Which was not unexpected. But, in fact, the call hadn’t been needed; the change in mood, and in newspaper headlines, had been almost palpable. 

“ -– Right, so you know -– well.” She nodded, standing. “Well, that was all I came to say, really.”

“I have some time, if you wanted to talk about other things,” he offered. 

“Not today,” she said. “Not that I’m not grateful …”

“It’s my job to make myself surplus to requirements,” he said, cheerfully. “Scram.”

She stood, again, and nodded at the picture frame in his hand. “She’s pretty,” she said, shyly.

He glanced down, surprised to remember that he still held it. “My late wife,” he said, automatically, and regretted it briefly; not a terribly professional confession.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Nita looked crestfallen; he mustered a smile, and found it surprisingly easy.

“She passed away a few years ago,” he said, reassuringly. 

“You must still miss her, though,” Nita said. 

“I do.” He propped the frame on his desk, in his line of sight, and dusted it off a bit. “But she died doing what she loved, and saving people; I’m proud of her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dear sleepfighter, I suspect this wasn’t quite what you were imagining, but I got inspired by the idea of an outsider’s perspective on wizardry, as well as wondering just what gets left behind when a wizard sacrifices themself in the practice of their Art and how exactly Mr Millman was familiar with wizardry. Doubtless some people simply forget the harder-to-rationalise parts of their partner’s/child’s/parent’s/friend’s life; but Millman doesn’t seem the type. I hope you enjoyed it despite my going a little off-piste, as it were. :) Happy exchange!


End file.
